5 Things That Never Happened to Lewis Young
by Ace Bullets
Summary: In-progress. As the title suggests, there will be five stories outlining things that never happened to Lou.
1. Rookie

**Five Things That Never Happened to Lewis Young**

_**Rookie**_

"Forget all those notions you may have of making some kind of name for yourself, kid," Walter Baylor said, as he slowed for traffic that was backing up at Queen and Wineva. "This job is _nothing_ like what you see on TV and movies. _No-thing!_"

Lewis Young merely nodded politely in reply. Walt seemed content to do all the talking, and Lou wasn't about to contradict him. First day on the job, and Lou found himself saddled with the twelve-year veteran, so obviously the guy had seen a lot in his time, and presumably knew what he was talking about.

"Get used to the mundane. You'll see the same crap, over and over. Drunks. Fights. B and Es. Domestic calls. Traffic accidents. And drunks, drunks and _more_ drunks."

Lou nodded again.

The traffic became unclogged, and Walt pressed on the gas pedal.

"Then you got your everyday traffic violations, noise complaints, Peeping Tom complaints..._Major_ crimes like hostage-takings, murders, et cetera – now that's what most of us live for – but those can actually be pretty rare."

Lou was starting to wonder if Walt treated every rookie to the same, boring introductory speech. If so, Walt was a very poor spokesman for the profession.

"You know what pisses me off the most?"

"What?" Lou finally spoke.

"How absolutely _stupid_ people are."

"What do you mean?" Lou asked.

"Well, take for instance a theft call I covered one time," Walt said, keeping his eye on the road. "This lady says someone's been stealing the flowers from her front yard. She's all bonkers about it, until it was pointed out to her that it was the middle of February."

Lou bit his cheek to keep from smiling, imagining some irate woman standing in her garden in minus ten Celsius weather, complaining about missing flowers. But Walt wasn't laughing, and seemingly hadn't intended the anecdote to be humorous.

"Wow," was all Lou could muster.

"I got _hundreds_ of 'stupid' stories," Walt droned on. "You rack 'em up when you've been on the job 'long as I have."

"I'll bet you do," Lou said wearily. If this is how his first day was going to go, with Walt relating 'stupid' stories interspersed with private rants about the nature of job, Lou wondered how long he'd be able to cope being Walt's shadow.

A rookie was supposed to learn from the veterans, but Lou figured if he let Walt's world view affect his own, he'd never get anywhere in the world of ambulance-chasing, police-scanner-monitoring, crime-scene reporting for the _Toronto Star_.

As Walt nattered on, Lou slowly started to tune out, imagining what the topic of his first by-line might be.

_Something like 'Veteran Reporter Strangled by Annoyed Cub Reporter', _Lou thought. _That'll surely sell._


	2. Dying Young

**A/N: Contains some violence. Lou never gets to do anything, does he? After writing this, I'm kind of afraid of what might happen if he did get more action...**

**Five Things That Never Happened to Lewis Young**

_**Dying Young**_

"_Team One! Hot Call!"_

At the sound of dispatcher Kira Marlowe's voice, the members of the elite Strategic Response Unit readied themselves to deploy.

"_Reports of multiple gunshots fired at Deslaurier College."_

"Any idea how many shooters? Type of weapon?" Sergeant Greg Parker asked anxiously, as he neared Kira's desk.

"Negative, Sarge," Kira replied, with a shake of her head. "I'll see if the 911 operator can patch me through to one of the callers or witnesses who were on the scene of the original disturbance..."

"Thanks. You let us know when you have more info."

"Will do," Kira said, and watched as the team members swiftly departed.

Lewis Young, known to his team as 'Lou', sat quietly in the passenger side of the SUV as Kevin 'Wordy' Wordsworth sped towards their destination.

_Deslaurier College_, Lou said to himself worriedly, as his thoughts flew to a particular individual he knew very, very well. _Please be alright... Please be alright..._

"You okay, Lou?"

"Huh?" Lou glanced over at Wordy, who was looking at him with a quizzical expression.

"You've been real quiet. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's okay. Yeah. I'm good." Lou answered. Even to his ears, he sounded unconvincing.

"Okay..." Wordy said, a little skeptically, and returned his attention to the road.

"It's just that we're responding to a shooting at Deslaurier," Lou said.

"So?" Wordy asked.

"So...I have a cousin enrolled there."

"Oh," Wordy managed to say, now understanding Lou's silence. A call involving a family member or close friend was always a nightmare scenario none of them ever wanted to face.

"So, I'm kinda wondering if this is something I should be responding to..."

"Hey," Wordy said encouragingly, "for all we know, your cousin is safe and sound. Seeing as we don't even know the extent of the threat yet, try to put the bad thoughts out of your head, okay?"

"Yeah," Lou said quietly. "I'm _trying_."

"Good," Wordy said.

"It's just that my cousin's had a real rough time of it growing up," Lou continued. "Her mother skipped out on my uncle when she was little, so she spent a lot of time with us. She's almost like a sister to me."

Wordy realised Lou needed to talk about his natural fears, so he stayed silent while Lou talked about his younger cousin.

"Candace worked a part-time job when she was in high school to save up enough to afford tuition, because she didn't want to take out any student loans," Lou explained. "She studies hard and she loves her classes. My uncle is really proud of her. _I'm_ really proud of her."

"She sounds like a very determined and responsible young lady," Wordy said sincerely.

"She is," Lou said seriously. "If anything has happened to Candy, I swear..."

* * *

**DESLAURIER COLLEGE LIBRARY**

Candace Young sat at a corner desk in a long row of carrels. She liked that the carrels afforded her some level of privacy. Even though the library was open to all the students, at least these desks gave the illusion of a personal space for studying.

There weren't too many students in here at this hour; most were either in classes or enjoying the brilliant sunshine by playing Ultimate Frisbee, football, or just lazing about on the grassy campus grounds. It was still way too early in the semester to be worried about exams and term papers, but Candace liked getting a jump on things. Besides, by her own admission she was a loner, and preferred the solitude to the social atmosphere of the college. In fact, Candace was fairly sure that besides herself, there were only two other students and a check-out desk lady on this floor of the library at the moment.

A sudden, loud bang startled her and broke her concentration. Candace realised the double entrance doors had probably been slammed by some careless student. The noise only sounded louder because of the general quiet and silence normally observed in a library.

Then, much to her surprise, she heard an even louder bang, followed by screams.

"Hey!"

_**Bang!**_

"Don't!"

_**Bang!**_

"Please!"

_**Bang!**_

Candace heard the additional bangs, and then there was silence again. She felt a growing sense of alarm. _Something is very wrong, _she thought._ That sounded like gunfire!!_

Cautiously, Candace stood up and attempted to peek over the partition of her carrel. She saw nothing. Then, there was a flash of something. It was a person, clothed entirely in black, running past in the aisle ahead of her; his footfalls pounding out a staccato beat on the thinly carpeted floor.

Candace quickly ducked back down in her cubicle, panic seizing her. She was almost positive the black-clad runner was a student she'd seen several times on campus. In fact, she was pretty sure she knew him from her high school. His name was Ron something... But what terrified her most was what she'd seen in his hand: a pistol. That cemented in her mind what she'd suspected: Ron had come into the library and had just shot three people.

She heard another bang, but this time she knew for sure it was the sound of the south exit door slamming shut. Ron – if it really was Ron – had evidently left the building.

Candace frantically rummaged in her backpack for her cell phone. _I've got way too much junk in here,_ she thought. _Where is it? Where's my damn' phone? _She mentally urged herself to calm down, and deliberately slowed her motions. Finally, her hand closed around the object she'd been searching for. Relieved, she withdrew the cell phone and flipped it open. She checked and was satisfied with the signal strength. With shaking fingers, Candace hurriedly dialled 911, praying there wouldn't be a lengthy response time.

To her frustration, there was a wait, and she nervously bit her lip, praying that Ron wouldn't return and find her before she had a chance to make contact with the help she sought.

"Come on, please, please answer," Candace muttered, thinking that whatever crises the 911 operators were currently responding to couldn't possibly be as dire as the one she was calling about.

She dared not get up out of her desk to see the damage Ron had done, but even so, she had a sinking feeling that whomever had been on the other side of his weapon was already beyond help. She was hearing no moans, no movement, no cries for assistance from anyone, unless they were playing possum.

Candace jumped at the sound of the entrance doors banging again. Someone else had entered – or had Ron come back in this way again? Candace held her breath.

"Ron," a voice called out softly. Then, louder and more insistent: "Ron! You still in here, man?"

It sounded familiar. The voice had a distinctive nasal quality and a slight lisp.

_That sounds like Vincent Zuckerman_, Candace thought to herself. _It's got to be Vince! We were together for English all through Queen Elizabeth High School! Wait... if that's Vince, then I was right about that other guy being Ron – Ronnie Michelson! Those two were always hanging out together, in their own little world, back in high school. What on earth have they got themselves into?!_

Candace could hear Vince moving around, as if he were checking to see if the level was still occupied by any living persons. She slunk down lower in her desk, doing her best to conceal herself. Some instinct told her that Ron and Vince were carrying out some joint shooting spree, and if she wanted to walk out of the library alive, she'd need to make sure neither man found her.

Still, her mind was reeling. Vince and Ron were sort of the outcasts of their graduating class – that was true, but aside from knowing they weren't exactly part of that 'in' crowd, Candace couldn't think of any time when either of them had exhibited violent inclinations. She had to admit to herself, though, that she didn't associate with them when they were in high school, and didn't even know what courses they were taking at present. Quite a number of students from Queen Elizabeth had applied to and were studying at Deslaurier. Candace knew that some of the same cliques and friendships from those days had continued at the college

"_911; please state the nature of your emergency."_

Candace drew a quick breath. Vince was still in the library. Dropping her voice in the hope he wouldn't be able to hear her, she said: "Yes – I'm in the library on the Deslaurier College campus. There's been a shooting. I think three people are dead."

"_Okay, I need you to tell me your name, and if you're safe where you are._"

"My name is Candace Young, and I think there's actually _two_ shooters... one of them is in the library right now... but I don't think he knows I'm here...yet... Please, have you alerted the SRU guys? You've got to send them right away!"

Candace thought about her cousin, Lou, and how proud she was that he'd advanced so quickly through the ranks of the Toronto Police Service, and had been successfully attached to the elite team of specialized responders.

"_Yes,_" the 911 operator replied, "_we've been fielding a number of calls about Deslaurier. SRU has already been called in, and they're on the way._"

"Oh, thank God!" Candace whispered.

"_But Candace, _are you safe where you are? _This is _important."

Candace swallowed nervously. She could hear Vince still pacing around. If he heard her...

"For now, I am. But if I try to leave, I might be spotted."

"_Then remain where you are and try to be as inconspicuous as possible._"

"Okay," Candace said. "I will."

"_Good. Now, Candace, I'd like to patch you through to a member of the SRU. Are you okay to talk to Sergeant Greg Parker?_"

"Yes, I'll talk to him," Candace said. After all, she could identify Ron and Vince. She could help Lou's team resolve the situation.

"_Okay. Hold a moment while I connect you to him..._"

Candace could feel her legs starting to cramp due to her unnatural position, crouched on the floor, sort of wedged between the seat and the desk. She thought she heard Vince's steps retreating.

_Please, leave... leave and don't come back in here..._

But then the footsteps got louder. He was approaching her row of desks.

"_Hello, my name is Sergeant Greg Parker. Is this Candace Young?_"

"Yes," Candace's voice was almost inaudible.

"_I'm sorry; I didn't I can't really hear you_," Greg said. "_Are you able to speak louder?_"

"No," Candace whispered, as loud as she dared.

"_Okay, that's fine,_" Greg replied. "_If you can't talk because you think there's someone who will hear you, let me give you my number so you can send me text messages instead. Is that okay? Just press one of the buttons on your phone for 'yes'. When I hear that tone, I'll know you prefer to communicate via texting._"

But Candace never heard the end of Greg's request. She'd put the phone down in the far corner of the desk, out of sight of Vincent, who was now staring down at her, gun pointing directly at her face.

* * *

**MOBILE COMMAND VEHICLE**

Sergeant Greg Parker frowned in dismay. "Candace? Are you there? Can you hear me?"

No response. He checked the display on his phone. Yes, he was still connected to the girl's cell, so he knew she hadn't hung up on him... but if the connection hadn't been broken, why hadn't she at least responded with the 'code' he suggested? It would have been the easiest thing in the world for her to press one button on her phone's keypad... Then, he started hearing voices again. Two people; one male, the other female – and he was positive the female voice was Candace.

_She must have been compromised,_ Greg realised. _She probably put the phone away somewhere so she wouldn't be discovered talking to me. Please don't do or say anything to endanger yourself,_ Greg pleaded silently as he listened to the conversation unfold.

* * *

**DESLAURIER COLLEGE LIBRARY**

"I know you, don't I?" Vince said to Candace. Like Ron, he, too, was dressed all in black.

Candace knew she was shaking with fright, but she composed herself enough to answer. "Yes... we were in high school. You're Vincent Zuckerman, aren't you? We were always in the same English class. I'm Candace Young. Well, I guess people mostly called me 'Candy'..."

"Yeah... yeah, I _do_ remember you," Vincent said in recognition. "You were kinda quiet. Kept to yourself..."

"Yes," Candace said with an eager nod, hoping that the tactic of keeping Vince talking would work to prevent him from shooting her. "Y-you were always pretty quiet, too."

Vince sighed. A range of emotions played across his pale face. Candace could see he was perspiring, and that his eyes were wide.

"You're really freaking me out with that gun, Vince. Please, can you put it away?"

The young man looked almost as if he were going into shock. His hand was trembling, but he lowered the gun to his side.

Candace sighed in relief. "Thank you," she said.

Vince smiled wanly. "I – I didn't know you were in here... I'm s-sorry."

Confident now that he had no intention of harming her, Candace said: "What's going on, Vince? Ron Michelson... I saw him. He ran past me after shooting someone. Why? What's happened to the two of you?"

Vince's eyes went dull. "We got sick of being the butt of everyone's jokes, that's what," he said darkly. "I thought it would be different here. I thought people were supposed to 'mature' and 'grow up' when they got to college. But it's the same crap, just like in high school. We're stuck with the _same_ jerks who made our lives a living hell at Queen E."

Candace saw Vincent's grip on his weapon tighten. Even though it was still at his side, he was shaking the gun with impatience. "So, Ron decided he'd had enough."

"_Ron_ decided?" Candace asked.

"Yeah," Vincent said. "And I agreed to back him up."

"But... _why_?"

"Because I've had enough, too. I can't expect you to understand!"

"Why not?" Candace countered. "Because I'm a girl? Because I wasn't picked on in high school like you were? Because _my_ life is so perfect?"

Vincent appeared to be a little taken aback at her angry retort.

"I wasn't exactly 'Miss Popular' at Queen E., either, Ron. I was just as much of a nobody as you were. And I _never_ joined in with the 'in crowd' when they treated students like you and Ron like second-class citizens. You _know_ that."

Vince nodded. "I know. You never did sink to that level..."

"Vincent..." Candace felt now was the time to take advantage of the opening she saw. "Look, I know you think you need to take revenge on some people, but please let _me_ go...please..."

He looked like he was considering her request carefully. "Sure, fine. You can go."

"Thank you," she said thoroughly relieved, and started to stand.

"Yo! Vince! You in here?"

Candace froze in place. Ron had returned to the library.

He was out of breath, and had spotted Vincent standing by Candace's desk. He trotted towards them, pistol still in his hand.

_Oh, no_, Candace thought. _No, no. God, why'd he have to come back now?!_

Vince turned to look at Ron, but was struck speechless.

"You _know_ this girl?" Ron asked Vincent incredulously.

"Yeah, Ron, she's -"

Ron raised his weapon and fired once at Candace.

"You don't anymore," Ron said coldly. "Now come on. We're not done yet. Move!"

"But- !!" Vince cried out in dismay, staring haplessly at the wide-eyed expression frozen on Candace's face as her body slumped in the seat of the desk.

"Let's _go_, Vinnie!"

* * *

**SRU HADQUARTERS – _De-Brief Room_**

"...shortly after the bodies of Vincent Alan Zuckerman and Ronald Michelson were taken to the morgue for autopsy. Constable Lewis Young remains in the custody of the Ontario Police Service, charged with two counts of willful murder following the investigation by the SIU."

Sergeant Greg Parker stopped talking for a moment. Reflected in the faces of every person at the table was shock, sadness, pain and sorrow.

"Screw SIU," Sam Braddock muttered. "Those punks got what they deserved. They killed eight people, total, throughout the campus. Lou taking them out when he did probably prevented another _Columbine_ or _Polytechnique, _or worse."

"Lou was acting against orders," Greg said firmly. "He was _not_ authorized to take any kind of lethal action against them."

"Yeah, but... they killed his cousin, Sarge..." Jules said softly, "he wasn't himself. He was acting on emotions. Surely SIU has to have considered that?"

"No," Greg countered, "SIU would be especially harsh in that situation. Lou should have taken himself out of the equation. He let it get personal. He allowed his emotions to compromise his judgement. He acted on his own and broke protocol.

"Look, I know we all think of Lou as family, but he dug his own grave when he hunted those guys down. We never got the opportunity to talk them down, or anything. The citizens of this city have to know that when we go out there to answer calls like this, that we're going to act like professionals; that we're going use our training the way it was intended. They trust that we're going to handle it by the book, and not with vigilante justice... Lou didn't. For him, today was all about satisfying a personal vendetta...and there's no place for that on this team."

* * *

**CITY OF TORONTO –** **_Anonymous holding cell_**

Lewis Young sat on the thin mattress of the tiny bunk in his cell. He was not upset that the Special Investigations Unit ruled solidly against him and his brutal actions today. From the moment he knew that Candace was dead, he'd decided on his course of action, and had resolved that nothing was going to deter him. Lou also knew that his actions would be career-ending.

And quite frankly, he didn't care.

He'd seen too many lives ruined by random violence, both during his less-than-auspicious time with a street gang during his adolescence, and his time on the police force.

But the random acts of violence had never been so close; so personal.

_Candy_... Like her nickname, Lou remembered the sweet girl his cousin had been. Always quiet and shy, but sweet, nevertheless. Now she was dead. And for what?! Lou still seethed with anger and hatred against the two shooters he'd hunted down and killed.

It wasn't fair. If there was anyone in the family who should have died before their time, Lou always thought it should have been him.

He reflected that in many ways, his life _was_ over, even if he wasn't physically dead. He knew he'd most likely be found guilty of murder, and he was resigned to this fate.

Life in prison couldn't possibly be worse than a prison of grief, inside which he and his family would now be forever locked.

* * *


	3. Underneath the Skin

**A/N: As I've done with the other '5 Things', here's the 'dialogue only' entry for Lou. Enjoy.**

**Five Things That Never Happened to Lewis Young**

_**Underneath the Skin**_

"So... where d'ya want it?"

"Uh, left bicep."

"Typical."

"Something wrong with wanting it there?"

"Nope. Just sayin'. Lotta guys choose that spot. Thought maybe you'd want something different."

"Well, I don't. So just be quiet and let me pick what I want, and then you can get started, okay?"

"Whoa, touchy, touchy. Look, just chill, man. It'll make things go a lot smoother."

"'Chill'? You want me to 'chill'? You know who you're talking to?"

"Do I know who I'm talking to? Yeah. I'm talking to a young punk who thinks he's the greatest thing since sliced bread. Well, lemme tell you something: I've seen your type come through the doors of my parlour so regular, I don't even have to _see_ you to know. I can tell what you're into by the way you walk; by the way you smell; by the way you talk."

"Hey. You don't know the first thing about me!"

"Yeah, right. Sure I don't. You know what happens to punks like you? You're either dead or in jail by the time you're twenty-five. You come here, get me to work on you, ink on a needle, thinking a permanent mark will give you some kind of street cred; like you'll somehow belong someplace better than where you came from. Well, it ain't true, kid."

"What the hell! You think what, that because I'm a visible minority, that I'm young, that I walk and talk and smell a certain way that I'm in a _gang_?"

"You sayin' you came in here to get a cutesy tat that says 'Mom' over a little red heart? That'll be a laugh!"

"...Well, um...actually, I did..."

"Oh..."

"Better wipe that expression off your face before people think it's been tattooed on, man."

* * *


	4. Hi, Mom, it's Me

**A/N: MAJOR SPOILERS for 'One Wrong Move'. And yes, a lot that happens in this story _did_ happen to Lewis Young, but some of it didn't. I hope you enjoy, even with the tragic circumstances surrounding the tale.**

**5 Things That Never Happened to Lewis Young**

"**Hi, Mom, it's me."**

SRU Constable Lewis Young stood quite still in the rock garden, concentrating on the double-threat of the explosive device in front of him and the landmine beneath him.

Best pal Spike Scarlatti had warned him not to move or shift his weight when Lou had sent the message that he thought he'd stepped on the death-trap.

Well, _that_ advice was a no-brainer. When Lou had heard the 'click' of the arming mechanism; felt the sharp points of the trigger's spikes digging into the sole of his boot, some instinct told him he was in dire straits. One false move and he could kiss this sweet life good-bye in an instant; blown to pieces in a fiery explosion. That's what landmines were designed to do, and if Sam Braddock had any say, such devices did so violently and without mercy or discrimination.

But Lou knew had to banish those thoughts; brutally shove them aside and remain calm and collected. If he allowed himself to falter – if he moved his foot – not only would he go, but the resulting detonation would also set off the TNT in the bomb he was there to defuse. If that TNT blew, it would take out the support column of the building it was set against. A number of civilians were yet to be evacuated from that building...

_Not gonna happen on _my_ watch_, Lou thought fervently. _If I'm gonna die today, I'm not gonna let the bastard who set these bombs take more innocent lives if it's the last thing I ever do._

The chatter from his team was disconcertingly non-existent. Lou wondered for a moment why they were being so silent. Perhaps, he mused, they were staying quiet so he would not be disturbed while he tried to figure out which wires to cut.

He hoped that was the reason, but without the back-and-forth conversations, even frivolous talk, Lou was starting to feel very alone; abandoned like a condemned man on death row.

Finally, the voice of his friend, Spike, broke through like a comforting lullaby, soothing his slowly fraying nerves.

_They've switched channels on me,_ it finally dawned on Lou. For a single moment, he felt cut to the heart.

Spike tried to lighten the mood and assuage Lou's fears by accusing him of being a chatterbox.

_Me? 'Less-lethal-Lou' – a talker? _Lou almost forgot the importance of his statue impersonation by nearly laughing out loud at the absurdity of Spike's mock accusation. But at least it brought a smile to his face.

He could almost cope now, with Spike there. Spike, who was the next to join Team One after he'd been recruited; Spike, who'd become his best pal in the whole world; Spike, who would risk his life for any member of the team…

_Not this time, Spike_, Lou thought, resigned to the fact that he was not going to be moving without being killed in the process. _I'm not going to let you risk your life for me. _

With the final wire at last cut, rendering the TNT-packed device inactive, Lou allowed himself a chance to relax, thankful that his tired, aching leg and half-asleep foot had lasted long enough to accomplish this mission.

Lou listened and watched as Spike scampered around the college campus, looking for solutions to the lethal situation.

_Let it go, Spike,_ Lou wanted to counsel his friend.

_You can't save me._

If he could have physically prevented Spike from approaching the danger zone, he would have. Being unable to move, Lou watched helplessly as his best friend risked life and limb in an attempt to identify the breed of landmine.

It took every ounce of control for Lou not to scream at Spike; to ward him off the gravel and away from certain death. Nothing he could say would convince the bomb expert that his efforts would be in vain; that his loyalty in this case was foolhardy.

Taking stock, however, Lou knew deep in his soul that had their roles been reversed, he would be doing the exact same thing for Constable Scarlatti.

Hope fleetingly grew wings when Spike declared he would try to re-pin the mine; cut down when he saw the hole had been glued shut.

That was it, then. Anything else would just be an exercise in futility, and Lou knew it. Still, Spike continued babbling on, claiming he had a good idea: Some harebrained scheme about using shields and water and weight-transfer – lost totally on Lou, who was now more certain than ever that his time had come.

Lou's quadriceps and calf muscles were screaming in protest and he was growing weary from the static pose.

_It's only a matter of time, now_, Lou figured. He encouraged Spike to go; to leave to gather the materials for his 'good idea'. In reality it was a ruse to get his dear friend far away from the destruction that was imminent.

_Only one thing left to do._

With tears dripping from his eyes and with a heavy heart, Lewis dialled a number. He ached to hear – just once more – a voice that was most dear to him. It was a voice that, given the choice, would be the last one he would want to hear before he left this life forever.

The phone rang twice before the other side picked up.

"Hello?" came a sweet, melodic, maternal sound.

Lou sighed, and his tears of self-pity and grief were replaced with tears of relief.

_She was home_.

He would be okay with the prospect of dying, now that he could speak with her.

He collected his wits and cleared his throat, attempting to remove all trace of the desperate emotional turmoil roiling in his gut; emotion he knew would strain his voice and taint his words; emotion that would cause his mother to worry.

Lou didn't know what other words to say; how to explain to his mother that he had just stepped on a landmine and that this would be the last time they would ever share a conversation, so he just said the first thing that came into his head. He took a deep breath and simply said:

"Hi, Mom, it's me…"

**END**


End file.
